Chapter Text
Anakin’s first thought was that this had to be some damn collective prank Obi-Wan had decided to join in on; otherwise, he simply wouldn't believe it was actually happening.
Yet, seeing his Master’s impassive calm, Anakin could almost swear he wasn't the only one feeling desperate about the gravity of the situation.
It was supposed to be a simple mission—something that wouldn't take up too much time, according to the Order’s records—but, as usual, things had to get complicated.
No sooner had they set foot on the planet than they received the shocking news: the betrothed princess had run off with her handmaiden, refusing to marry a tyrant she didn't love.
Anakin couldn't blame her in the slightest, but that certainly didn't make their job any easier.
The princess was meant to be their way into the kingdom.
Obi-Wan and Anakin were to pose as the princess's guards, granting them direct access to various parts of the castle; the princess would act as an informant, revealing the king's plans. This would help them gather the evidence needed to link him to the Separatists, allowing them to arrest him for establishing an illegitimate regime and manufacturing planet-destroying weapons.
Once he was arrested, the princess's marriage would be annulled, and she could return to her palace. But it seemed the royals lacked the sense to handle this properly; now, they were reduced to sobbing and making a scene, leaving Obi-Wan and Anakin to find a way to clean up the mess.
A delightful way to start a mission, Anakin thinks—and it seems Obi-Wan picks up on the thought, shooting him a brief but intense look of disapproval.
Anakin presses his lips together and turns his head away, slightly offended, while reinforcing his mental shields before listening to his Master step forward, seeking, as always, to mediate the situation. "It is deeply regrettable, Your Majesty," Obi-Wan asserts in a soft, solemn tone—one Anakin admires, knowing he himself could never replicate it. "We had truly hoped to collaborate with you on this investigation."
"Oh, Master Kenobi," the lady gasps dramatically, sinking back onto her throne as her attendants rush to steady her. "This is a true tragedy... My child—my only daughter—has abandoned her people, knowing full well this was our last hope to banish that tyrant and regain control over our subjects... Now our hopes are dashed; there is nothing left to be done."
"Does Your Majesty not have a son who could be sent in the princess's place to fulfill the agreement?"
The atmosphere in the room grows tense; it is as if the temperature has suddenly plummeted—though Anakin reasons that such a thing shouldn't be possible.
The monarch rises and points a finger at him.
Her elongated finger seems to stretch across the room, while the kind, dramatic woman’s appearance distorts; her long, soft features contract until they are almost grotesque.
Her footsteps echo across the small platform separating her from the throne; the very women who had been vigorously fanning their mistress now rush frantically to restrain and calm her, while Obi-Wan himself steps forward.
His eyes dart back and forth; though he appears composed at first glance, the stiffness in his neck betrays his urgent need to find a way to quickly extricate Anakin from the trouble he has stumbled into.
"You dare suggest handing over one of my children as spoils for that filthy man... My babies, who haven't even reached their ninth lunar cycle."
"Your Majesty," Anakin replies, trying in vain to defuse the situation, but his voice seems only to agitate the poor woman further, and she begins to sob inconsolably. He steps back; suddenly, all the ferocity that drove his movements has vanished, and rage gives way to sorrow, leaving him to slump onto his throne, sobbing.
"The rest of my children are so young!" he sobs dramatically. "Even if one of them wanted to help, I could not bring myself to send one of my babies, knowing they would be surrendering themselves to a tyrant... Can you imagine what that creature might do to them? I could not bear to lose them! Yet now, they too are at risk because of my beloved girl's foolishness!"
His wails echo through the palace; Anakin furrows his brow, trying to hide his discomfort.
This is one of the most difficult missions Anakin has ever faced; not only have their plans been ruined within minutes of their arrival, but enduring a queen’s shouting isn't something the Jedi trained him for.
"My lady, if I may speak..." Anakin turns his head to see Obi-Wan, who gives him a long, steady look. "I fear Knight Skywalker may not have expressed himself quite right... What my colleague meant to suggest is that perhaps there is a relative who could take the princess's place... A nephew, perhaps, within the appropriate age range."
Obi-Wan’s words, as always, act like an elixir that calms the situation.
The tension eases, and the agitation evaporates—vanishing like air rather than the toxic gas that had threatened to kill them all.
Anakin glances at him sideways, observing an expression of calm—more like that of a confidant than a soldier—and feels a tightness in his chest as he looks away.
As a child, he had loved that composure in Obi-Wan’s eyes; later, he came to hate it because he was unable to emulate or adopt it.
He could neither be like Obi-Wan nor provoke him.
It was as if Obi-Wan orbited in his own sphere, where everyone could witness his majesty, yet no one could truly touch him.
Not even Anakin—the asteroid closest to him, yet never close enough to become part of him.
"I fear, Master Kenobi," the woman sighs, her sobs subsiding, "that none of my siblings chose to carry on the lineage... I alone have been responsible for maintaining it."
Anakin curses under his breath; Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense, and the bond between them pulls at both ends, prompting a silent exchange of glances. 'There is no other option,' Anakin projects through their bond, pressing his own uncertainty and frustration against it; he can feel Obi-Wan’s—smaller, and less easy to soothe.
'Patience, Anakin.'
'Patience? How can you ask for patience when the whole plan was ruined before it even began? We don't have a princess, Obi-Wan!'
'Thank you for reminding me, Anakin—not that I didn't already know.' Obi-Wan’s sarcasm is so familiar it acts like a stabilizer; at least he still has something familiar to cling to.
The silence in their bond feels heavy—perhaps not as heavy as it should, considering they had been standing silent before a queen for minutes—but Anakin loathes the silence of his own mind almost as much as he loathes the empty noise of the outside world.
The only thing that makes him feel accompanied and calm inside his own head is Obi-Wan’s presence—feeling their bond calling out, tugging at him, or offering a soothing touch.
Obi-Wan’s absence or silence feels like torture, like a mistake Anakin must correct at all costs.
Then he feels it—an intense, sudden pull coming from Obi-Wan’s side. Anakin freezes; it is rare for Obi-Wan to experience such intense emotions. Usually, his presence is so peaceful that when this happens, Anakin is startled, and a suspicion begins to grow that something might be wrong.
"My Lady..." Obi-Wan’s voice cuts in, and the sobs of the resigned Queen—who was likely expecting the Jedi to bid a hasty farewell to her planet—come to a halt.
"Master Kenobi?"
"Does Valsi Kale know what his future wife looks like?" The Queen snorts and shakes her head.
"He doesn't. This was to be their first meeting, but now it will never happen... And we lose everything." The woman’s sobs intensify again; the servants cast long, compassionate, and kind glances at her, alternating them with furious looks directed at Anakin—as if he were somehow to blame for the princess having run away.
Anakin crosses his arms and makes a superhuman effort not to snort.
He is used to being blamed for everything, but even this feels excessive.
"I could go in the princess's place."
Anakin feels his heart stop; his body turns toward Obi-Wan before he has even fully processed what he heard.
There is a collective gasp, and for the first time, Anakin is grateful not to be the only one who sees the folly in a decision made by Obi-Wan.
It is Anakin’s job to make the rash, reckless decisions.
Not Obi-Wan’s.
Obi-Wan is the voice of reason.
Obi-Wan is the one who reprimands Anakin when he does something stupid or fails to fulfill his duties as he should.
Yet there stands the acclaimed negotiator, the perfect Jedi, beside him—perfectly calm, hands clasped behind his back—as if he had proposed increasing his fleet’s weapons supply rather than posing as the Princess of House Harik to marry a dictator.
That last thought makes Anakin’s stomach churn uncomfortably.
The words "marriage" and "Obi-Wan" should never appear in the same sentence, and yet there it is—the implication is clear, and the reality stands right before him.
Obi-Wan is going to get married for the sake of a stupid mission—and to someone else, no less.
Anakin crosses his arms, trying not to let it get to him, but the feeling is already there.
It is lodged in his chest, pinning him in place, making it impossible to think of anything other than the words his Master has just announced as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
"Is this possible, Master Kenobi?" The Queen’s voice trembles with confusion—and likely admiration—but Anakin quickly shifts his gaze to Obi-Wan instead.
He keeps his eyes fixed on his Master, even as Obi-Wan pretends not to notice; not even when Anakin tugs at their bond to get his attention does he manage to hold Obi-Wan’s focus for more than a few seconds before the man slips back into his perfect negotiator’s mask, smiling.
"As I understand it, your planet does not use fixed gendered pronouns in its written language, so I doubt the King would notice any issues with the switch... I would simply need to submit a request to the Jedi Council to authorize the change in plans."
The reasoning seems brilliant—and Anakin knows, without a doubt, that it is. Obi-Wan’s silver tongue had always managed to save them from any situation; his way with words was admired across the galaxy. This time seemed no exception, and yet—for the first time in Anakin’s memory—he felt nothing but hatred for that tongue of his.
His arms cross instinctively, though Obi-Wan doesn't even glance at him as he finalizes details with the Queen.
They share a deep bow—one Anakin barely participates in, doing so more out of protocol than genuine conviction.
The moment Obi-Wan turns around, his gaze cuts through Anakin like a lightsaber.
It lasts only a second, yet to Anakin, it feels like a confrontation stretching into eternity.
He refuses to look away, even though doing so is a breach of etiquette.
Obi-Wan is the one to yield, though his jaw tightens as he walks on; Anakin follows a few seconds later, irritated.
Yet, despite following, he does not walk abreast of his former master. The message is clear enough to Obi-Wan, who clasps his hands behind his back in a gesture meant to convey indifference.
"What was that?" Anakin’s voice breaks the silence as they walk down one of the palace corridors—far enough away to avoid being overheard.
"Reaching an agreement to prevent further loss of life."
Anakin laughs; he can’t help it.
Obi-Wan stops and fixes him with a look—the kind that usually makes Anakin bite his tongue and swallow the metallic taste of blood.
But this time, it doesn't stop him; instead, it spurs him to keep speaking.
"Making a pact with a dictator," Anakin declares, quickening his pace and letting his voice rise. "That’s what you did... You agreed to a commitment without consulting the Council, simply to indulge the foolish whim of a Queen who couldn't ask a relative to take her daughter's place in that stupid marriage." "The lives of everyone on this planet—and, unfortunately, the success of our mission—depend on that stupid marriage you mentioned," he remarks, pausing to look at him.
Anakin stops; his blood burns, and he clenches his fists as he watches Obi-Wan walk away.
He runs after him, catching up and blocking his path.
Obi-Wan stops; his jaw is set, and he crosses his arms.
"Our duty was to escort the princess, not for *you* to become the damn princess."
"Brilliant!" Anakin growls at Obi-Wan’s sarcasm. "And explain this to me... how do we escort a princess if there isn't one? Where are we going to find a princess willing to marry a dictator just a couple of hours before the formal pre-wedding reception begins?"
"The Queen can take your place."
Obi-Wan’s eyes widen in disbelief.
He looks at Anakin with an expression of utter doubt, waiting for him to retract his words, but the apology never comes; Anakin simply looks away, ashamed.
He knows his comment was reckless and stupid.
He knows a queen would never agree to such a thing—nor should she, given her role in the mission planned by the Council—but Anakin cannot back down.
Because backing down would mean accepting that his Master would sacrifice himself by marrying a vile man, while Anakin would simply have to stand by and watch.
"You know that isn't going to happen."
The firm, final reply makes Anakin’s chest tighten; he growls in frustration as his Master finally pulls his arm away and walks off, leaving him behind as if nothing had happened—effectively sealing the conversation.
"I’m not going with you," he threatens. "Not unless the Council approves the change in the mission."
Obi-Wan stops and sighs.
"If you want the Council to authorize the change, you’ll have the approval before it’s time to leave. I’ll be waiting in the assigned vehicle."
Anakin opens his mouth, ready to say anything that might stop Obi-Wan and hold him back.
He just wants Obi-Wan to understand and realize what he has just done.
He wants him to understand that he can't do this—that the best course of action is to give up and find another plan. But Obi-Wan has already left, and Anakin is alone with anger coursing down his throat, burning it.
He tries to breathe, to call upon the Force for help, but the solitude and coldness he senses within it make him tense up.
Obi-Wan was a fool.
Anakin hates it when Obi-Wan does things like that without consulting him; they are supposed to be a team, and both of them should be making the tough decisions.
Servants watch him pass through the corridors; they bow, and some address him with questions that Anakin neither understands nor stops to hear. He keeps walking until he reaches his quarters, where—like an annoyed teenager—he throws the door wide open before slamming it shut with enough force that Obi-Wan might feel it in his own room.
Anakin rushes to collapse onto his bed, stung.
At least he knows there is no way the Council will approve a crazy scheme like the one Obi-Wan is about to propose to them.
***
The light from the datapad illuminates Anakin’s face as he grumbles, gripping the device tighter than necessary.
The Council has approved the change of mission.
They agreed to let Obi-Wan adopt the princess's identity and take her place on the mission for as long as necessary—long enough to gather sufficient information to arrest and imprison the target.
Anakin shouted when he read the mission briefing.
He shouted when he struck against Obi-Wan’s mental shields, only to be blocked from entering.
It felt unfair—as if he were still a child denied a voice or a chance to listen, finding out everything only through a damn message; as if he were still just a Padawan.
He doesn't let that stop him, though.
His specialized boots sink into the purple mud of the hillside as he advances, finally catching sight of the vehicle Obi-Wan had told him about. Anakin can’t help but think it looks crude; by royal standards, he had expected something more akin to the transports the rulers of Naboo or Alderaan usually traveled in. Still, he stops in front of the vehicle.
"I see you’ve finally arrived," Obi-Wan announces from behind the curtain separating them.
Anakin crosses his arms, making his annoyance clear, but Obi-Wan resumes his previous posture, hiding his hand and any part of his body that might be visible if he leaned even slightly out of his seat.
"Did I have a choice?"
"You do; the fact that you always choose to follow your old master proves it."
The slight note of sarcasm makes Anakin’s chest tighten and his lips purse as he reluctantly climbs into the driver’s seat.
"I’m doing this for the mission."
"Of course." The engine roars, and Anakin yanks the controls before slowly pulling away.
They descend the hill as Anakin watches the queen wave them off from the master bedroom balcony—one hand pressed to her chest, the other waving theatrically.
Anakin rolls his eyes and picks up the pace.
It’s all her fault.
If she had come instead of her daughter, the mission would have proceeded normally and successfully; but thanks to her excessive dramatics and her continued inability to make real sacrifices, here they were: Obi-Wan pretending to be a princess to marry a monster.
"I can't do it, Anakin."
"Don't read my mind."
"I'm not," he replies gently. "It's just that your thoughts are so loud... It's hard not to hear or sense you when you've let your mental defenses slip so much."
His teeth grind, his grip tightens, and Anakin feels the sudden discomfort of leather pressing too hard against his skin.
"I don't understand why the Council agreed to this."
"Because the Council understands the importance of carrying out this mission... We aren't doing this because we want to, Anakin."
"I know," he retorts grudgingly, yanking the controls to make the next turn and successfully weaving through the trees. "But I don't like it."
"Our duty is to do what is right, not what we desire, Padawan."
Anakin snorts in frustration.
He knows Obi-Wan is right.
A Jedi's duty comes before the heart.
Jedi live for others.
Jedi live to serve the galaxy, not themselves.
Anakin hates it, and sometimes, he wishes they were allowed to be a little more selfish... A little more cruel and sentimental.
Anakin would love to be able to refuse missions like this, but the price of doing so would be the lives of thousands of innocent people dragged into the conflict by the selfishness of a few—Obi-Wan had always told him that—and yet, Anakin still yearns for that selfishness.
The vehicle comes to a halt as Anakin spots the castle ahead, constructed from red stone quarried from the planet's depths.
Obi-Wan had forced him to read the full briefing—or at least the first three files—so Anakin can at least recognize that they’ve arrived at the right place.
He has barely stepped out when several servants unroll a purple carpet; diamonds glitter along the seams, and Anakin feels nauseous at such a waste of resources. But he doesn't let that stop him; he walks steadily to the rear hatch, where Obi-Wan is waiting.
He pulls the golden handle—the hanging fabrics sway—and Anakin extends his hand so Obi-Wan can take it and step down, just as the planet's protocol dictates.
Contact with his master sends a thrill through him; Anakin has always loved the feel of his warm skin against his own.
The grip tightens, and Anakin can barely register the colors.
Lavender; silver stitching cascades down the sides of his master's robes, and Anakin’s heart skips a beat when he is face-to-face with him.
Perfectly defined eyes, lips painted in a soft hue that complements the matching blush on his cheeks.
A veil falls from his face, grazing the ground and dusted with stardust, while beads from his headdress cascade like raindrops, offering only fleeting glimpses of the intricate details of Obi-Wan’s makeup.
His throat tightens, and he barely manages to compose himself as Obi-Wan steps to his side, gripping his arm firmly.
Anakin doesn't know how the hatch closes, nor does he fully grasp what is happening, until his master stands before the palace gates—which swing open to welcome him. He clumsily tries to keep glancing at Obi-Wan without being too obvious, but fails.
He had never seen Obi-Wan like this.
It wasn't the first time his master had worn a disguise—costumes were often used on other missions—but Obi-Wan had never worn an outfit as exquisite as the one he wore that day, nor had he ever shone in the warmth of a sun the way he did now.
"Step back, Anakin."
He blinks awkwardly before obeying the order in silence; Obi-Wan gives him a quick glance—the equivalent of a smile for him. "Good job."
Anakin blushes at his master's words; he shifts uncomfortably, trying to pretend it doesn't affect him as he lets go of Obi-Wan's hand and fills the physical void between them with the intensity of their bond.
Obi-Wan walks ahead, and Anakin has to follow two paces behind, just as he did as a child on Tatooine.
The resemblance sends a shiver down his spine—one he ignores as he watches the servants around them open the doors and bow while Obi-Wan strides through the entryway.
When Obi-Wan stops, Anakin does too.
The man—if Anakin can even call him that—strides forward until he comes to a halt right in front of Obi-Wan.
Anakin bows in sync with Obi-Wan, who mirrors the movement but adds a touch of courtly grace that Anakin has never quite been able to emulate.
"Your Majesty," Obi-Wan breathes out—a sigh so theatrical that Anakin has to remind himself not to roll his eyes; he gives their bond a mocking tug, only to receive a warning yank in return.
"Prince..."
Anakin presses his lips together in annoyance before rising from his bow; he notices the king smiling and hurrying to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan with a feigned gentleness.
Obi-Wan tilts his head, feigning fragility—or perhaps making a futile attempt to keep some distance from the king, who has moved in so close that his lips are brushing against his Master's cheek.
"It is a pleasure to meet you." Obi-Wan’s hand rests against the king’s lips, and Anakin feels a jarring, uncomfortable lurch in his gut.
Obi-Wan’s laughter only makes the situation worse, and Anakin has firmly decided that this is his least favorite mission ever.
"Rumors do not do justice to your beauty, Prince," the man declares, planting another kiss on the back of Obi-Wan’s hand—a gesture that makes Anakin tense up where he stands. "You are so beautiful; I cannot fathom how I have gone all these years without meeting you."
"Your Majesty," Obi-Wan replies, his tone sounding shy and flustered.
Anakin blinks, visibly indignant, and has to bite his tongue to keep from scoffing or saying something stupid that might ruin the mission.
"Your words flatter me so... I was so afraid I wouldn't be what you desired."
The king gasps and presses his other hand to his chest, as if genuinely taken aback by the admission. He steps back just once before planting himself firmly in front of Obi-Wan again, shaking his head vehemently.
"No, sweet Prim—never say such a thing," he replies, kissing Obi-Wan’s hand with lingering care, then placing another kiss right over it, upon the skin hidden beneath the fabric. "You could never disappoint me—especially not when your beauty is outshone by the very nectar that flows through our rivers."
Anakin snorts as he watches the king’s disgusting hand caress his master’s cheek; his master is acting so docile and gentle that he seems like a completely different person from the one Anakin has known for over ten years.
"Come this way, beautiful Prim," the king announces, quickly planting another kiss on the back of his hand before tugging him along. "I shall show you your future by my side."
"It would be an honor, Your Majesty," Obi-Wan says, bowing briefly before taking the king’s hand again. "But if it causes no trouble, I would like to take my things to my chambers first."
"Your things?" the king asks, blinking. "Beloved Prim, there is no need to bring anything... From now on, I shall provide whatever you need."
"Even so, I insist... There are certain garments and pieces of jewelry that hold sentimental value—things I find hard to part with."
The king hesitates; he seems unsure.
He glances briefly at the castle and his servants, but eventually sighs and releases Obi-Wan’s hand.
"As you wish. If you want to get settled in first... then so it shall be."
Obi-Wan smiles, gently caressing the man’s hand with an affection that Anakin found hard to remember was fake—for Obi-Wan had never touched *him* like that, never looked at him with that expression, and certainly never spoken to him with such sweetness.
The thought catches in his mind like a serpent slithering in to suffocate him. "Master Kenobi does not know how to love, my dear boy."
Anakin scoffs silently, recalling Palpatine's words.
If he doesn't know how to love, Anakin thinks, then Obi-Wan is a perfect actor—feigning passion and devotion for a being who does not deserve it.
"Krim, darling, go get my things."
Anakin doesn't reply; he turns around and heads back the way they came.
He reaches the car and picks up a bundle of fabric—presumably the clothes Obi-Wan was referring to.
He hoists the heavy bag onto his shoulder, walking past the king's servants, who cast expectant, curious glances his way—as if trying to figure out the nature of his bond with the prince.
Anakin understands; it isn't normal for a master to be kind to his slaves. Yet, the role Anakin is playing isn't that of a mere slave, but of an aide.
It is an extra duty, certainly, but it grants him a greater degree of intimacy with his master—an intimacy Anakin sometimes wishes were real, rather than just an act.
"Do you have everything, Krim?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Obi-Wan gives him an approving smile, but Anakin notices the king’s gaze lingering on him longer than appropriate.
No words are spoken—it is merely a look of acknowledgment that makes Anakin tense up, bracing himself for a comment that never comes.
The king simply dismisses him, as if his presence were a minor nuisance, and turns his attention back to Obi-Wan, gallantly extending his arm so his master can link his own through it and walk by his side.
"Allow me to escort you, beautiful Prim."
Anakin clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on his master's belongings—and his own.
The mission was going to be far more unbearable than Anakin had anticipated.